


i won't give up your ghost

by dannomar



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff and Humor, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, Whatever else this story transforms into, Who even knows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-04-07 10:29:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19083202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dannomar/pseuds/dannomar
Summary: Adora gives Catra so many second chances, but she just needs one more to get it right.Sometimes time travel is the only solution, but it's still messy.





	1. Got lost in the moment (got lost in tempting our fate)

_I know you’re not empty_  
_I know you’re still there_  
_I know you’re not empty_  
_I know you still care_

* * *

Despondos.

An empty, dark dimension devoid of stars. Absent of everything except for one lonely planet and its moons. An illusion of peace.

The story is much different up close. Etheria is a planet ravaged by war, its once lush, beautiful landscapes decimated as the Horde continues to conquer new territory inch by inch.

If Catra is being honest, she expected the Rebellion to have lost by now. They _should_ have lost by now. The Horde has superior numbers, training, and tech. The Rebellion has a shimmering alliance full of princesses who preach constantly about love and friendship. It’s enough to make Catra gag. What did love and friendship ever win? All it did was make people weak. No, the real reason the Rebellion was still buzzing around like an incessant insect was because of She-Ra. All muscles and self-righteousness paired with a magic sword, wearing the face of her ex-best friend.

Seeing She-Ra used to sting, prick at her skin until the sensation festered in her veins. Catra used to get so _angry._ The way she saw it, She-Ra had stolen her best friend from her and given Adora some ridiculous task to save the world. As if one person could do all that alone. The world is a mess when you get down to it, and people will always make it a mess, no matter who tries to clean it up. But Adora, honorable to a fault, had taken up that mantle and left Catra behind.

So yeah. It used to hurt - a lot.

Seven years at war, though, starts to dull a lot of things. Hundreds of battles, so many encounters with She-Ra she’d lost count. It all just starts to bleed together until Catra has a hard time distinguishing one fight from another. Now when Catra sees She-Ra, she only feels...tired.

This is how Catra finds herself now, face to face with She-Ra once again. She looks just as tired as Catra feels, her sword tip dragging along the ground. It was poor form really. It never would have passed in the Horde. Not for the first time, Catra realizes how sloppy Adora has become.

Catra knows how to keep up appearances though. “It amazes me that you fall for this every time, Adora,” she taunts, checking her claws with an air of nonchalance, supremely unconcerned to be going toe-to-toe with She-Ra.

“That’s because you’re always the bigger threat. I’d rather keep an eye on you.” She-Ra rolls her shoulders back like she’s trying to work out a kink.

“I’m flattered you enjoy looking at me so often,” she purrs, leering purposefully. She-Ra flushes, brow coming together in a frown. She’s so easy to mess with, honestly.

“Stop playing around, Catra!”

“Joining the Rebellion really sucked the last bit of humor out of you, Adora. Not that you ever had much to begin with.” With a deep sigh, Catra heaves herself out of the tree she’d been lounging in while she waited for She-Ra to show up (and predictably, she had, just like she had every time before). “Fine, let’s get this over with.”

She leaps, claws flashing, but for all of She-Ra’s apparent tiredness, her sword is already coming up to block Catra’s attack before she tries throwing her shoulder into Catra’s body. Nimble as ever, Catra dodges out of the way, popping her leg out and sending She-Ra tripping over a foot. She’s quick to recover though, already steadying herself and swinging at Catra with a grunt.

This is how it always goes between them. Catra can’t quite match She-Ra’s raw strength, nor can She-Ra match Catra’s natural speed and agility. Their fights are like a dance, with both vying to take the lead, but it’s always a game of give and take.

As frustrating as it is, it also exhilarates Catra.

“You know, while you’re here with me, your Princess friends are losing ground to the Horde,” Catra pants, narrowly missing a punch to the face. She backsteps rapidly to put some space between them.

“Stop trying to distract me,” She-Ra lunges, eating up the space Catra had just created in one stride with her stupidly long legs. Catra snaps out, wrapping her hand around She-Ra’s wrist and yanking her forward. She uses the momentum to propel herself around She-Ra, claws raking across her forearm as she pulls away.

Catra smirks as a thrill travels up her spine. “I’m always a distraction Adora! When will you learn that? One of the few things Shadow Weaver had right about me.” She can see in the way She-Ra’s mouth opens that she wants to deny it, and Catra almost rolls her eyes. Even after all these years, and Adora still wants to defend her?

Old habits really are hard to break.

For once though, She-Ra clamps her mouth shut and opts to press the attack, blood weeping from her arm. She kicks at Catra, and the move is so telegraphed, Catra has to laugh.

“You Princesses have been getting sloppy! You barely brought your forces together to meet us! Tell me, honestly,” Catra has to drop down on all fours to avoid the sword swinging for her head, then rolls away wildly to miss the downward stroke that follows. She jumps to her feet with a huff of amusement. “Are the Princesses losing their touch? Lost your sparkle?” Her teeth flash in a sneer and she turns the momentum of the battle once more, stepping into She-Ra’s personal space. On some distant level of consciousness, Catra can smell the tang of blood and sweat in the air, so sharp she can almost taste it; the smoke from the fighting happening around them, already beginning to choke the air; her ears twitching at the outside sound of battles clashing, growing closer. But those things are all secondary to _now_ , and so she focuses on thrusting her fist into She-Ra’s gut, grunting with the effort and being rewarded with the hiss of air expelling from the tall warrior.

Then She-Ra’s hands are on her, gripping her flesh hard enough to bruise and Catra yelps as she’s thrown through the air, landing on her back with a resounding thud. She sucks in air loudly, trying to catch her breath again.

“Why, Catra? The Horde has hurt so many people and you keep helping them!”

If Catra could have groaned right now, she would have. Another impassioned speech was coming, she could feel it. She-Ra was advancing on her warily, which was wise. It wouldn’t be the first time Catra had tricked her into thinking she was more hurt than she really was. This time, she is truly winded.

“All these years, I’ve held onto the hope that you - that we…” She-Ra falters, breath heavy.

“We’ve gone over this, Adora!” Catra is finally able to gasp out, lifting herself onto her elbows to glare at her. “I’m _not_ a good person.”

And then, she surprises Catra. Instead of arguing, she agrees. “No. I guess not.”

Catra thought she was past being hurt by Adora, but she’d never expected the other woman to agree with her. Seven years and Adora had been steadfast in her belief Catra was good, that she could _join the Rebellion_ and throw off the shackles of her past. She’d spent so much time denying all the bad in Catra, and now -

Neither of them moves, perhaps both shocked by the admission. She-Ra eventually shrinks down until she's just Adora, exhausted and bleeding. It makes a place deep inside Catra ache with something she thought she’d buried away. Fighting Adora was always harder than fighting her eight foot tall alter ego, as ridiculous as that was.

“I’m so tired, Catra.” Her confession is barely a whisper, but Catra feels it reverberate in her bones.

“Yeah,” Catra swallows, clearing her throat gruffly and averting her gaze. Adora is staring at her with those grey-blue eyes, and damnit… “Me too.”

“You’ve done terrible things. Helped others do terrible things,” Adora’s voice, while shaky, is growing stronger, louder. “I should have stopped you ages ago. I could have.”

“You think,” Catra snaps, even though she knows it’s true. She-Ra could have ended things a lot sooner if Adora hadn’t held her back. _Weakness._ “So why haven’t you?”

Adora’s gaze is piercing, and Catra wants to squirm, to look away, but she holds steady, refusing to back down.

“You might be a bad person, Catra, but I don’t think it’s your fault.”

Catra explodes, pushing herself up into a sitting position. “Damnit, Adora! I’m an adult, not some little kid crying under a blanket because someone was mean to me. I made my choices. I knew the consequences. It’s my fault, so don’t try to make it someone else’s! You know it’s true - stop shaking your head at me - so tell me, if you’re so certain you can beat me, why haven’t you? What’s the real reason?”

“Because I still care about you, Catra!” Now Adora is yelling at her, and this is dangerous, how they’re both losing their composure. So many years and they’re still getting under each other’s skin

“Then you’re a fool!”

“I know!” Adora looks miserable and Catra’s nerves feel raw and electric. All of this is bringing up emotions she thought she had killed off years ago.

“Come on, Adora, finish me. We both agree, I’m a terrible person, so let’s end this. Let’s see if you’re as good as you think you are.” Catra picks herself up off the ground, muscles shaking with adrenaline. Adora doesn’t move except to shake her head, mouth moving wordlessly. “Fight me!”

“I won’t,” Adora grinds out, face pulled tight in a grimace. Catra hears the rumble of tanks and explosions growing closer.

“The Horde is coming. Fight me! Your friends are probably already dead -” Catra staggers back, wincing in pain as she cradles her jaw. “Nice punch,” she grunts, tongue poking at the loosened teeth in her mouth. “But that still didn’t kill me.”

“I don’t want to kill you, Catra!”

A strange, hysterical laugh claws at Catra’s throat. She swallows it down. “It’s you or me, Adora! That’s how it’s always been. You don’t have a choice.”

Adora closes the space between them surprisingly fast for someone who looked so beaten down. Her eyes are hard as flint, teeth bared in a snarl, of anger or pain, Catra can’t tell. Adora is gripping her arms fiercely, hands squeezing like they’re trying to leave a permanent impression. This is the first time in a while that Catra has allowed herself to really look at Adora. She’s usually She-Ra these days, and besides, looking too long always makes Catra feel…

She looks now. Her jaw is sharp, cheeks hollowed out by time, and there are new wrinkles in the corners of her eyes. She is covered in filth: blood, sweat, dirt, and still, she is achingly, infuriatingly beautiful to Catra. Every line of her is taut now, hardened like stone. Adora stands before her, solid and unyielding, which is how she’s always kind of been, and once upon a time, Catra found comfort in that. There’s a raggedness to her edges though, and Catra thinks she could cut herself on them if she tried (and maybe she has already, over and over until the pain is all she knows). Catra wonders what changes Adora sees in her.

“They want me to,” Adora says, and Catra has forgotten what they’re talking about. “The Rebellion, they want me to kill you. You’re too dangerous. But you’re wrong. There’s always a choice. I choose not to.”

“You’re such an idiot!” Catra snarls, trying to pull herself out of Adora’s grip. “Let me go!”

“I know you still care too, Catra.”

“I don’t!”

“You’ve had ample opportunity to kill me too. Why haven’t you?” Adora is insistent, and Catra feels like she is suffocating.

“I don’t care. You - you’re nothing, ok? I just enjoy messing with you.” The lies sound feeble even to her own ears. She’s not surprised Adora doesn’t buy it.

“You care.”

“Let. Me. Go.”

“I haven’t in all this time, why would I start now?”

This knocks the wind out of Catra as surely as a punch to the gut, and Adora is so, so close to her now. Her eyes have lost their steel, but they’re the only soft thing about her. She’s still holding Catra in place to keep her from running, but Catra feels paralyzed.

“You left,” she says around her dry tongue. “You don’t have the right to hold on anymore.” Catra sees the flash of hurt for a split second, but then she’s kicking Adora in the knee and wrenching herself free. She hears Adora’s hiss of pain as she scrabbles backwards so Adora can’t grab her again.

Without warning, another body is tackling Adora to the ground, and it takes Catra a moment to process what’s happening. Scorpia is suddenly there, and she’s more than strong enough to handle Adora, whose sword has skittered away with the force of the impact.

“Hey Wildcat!” Scorpia greets while Adora struggles beneath her. “Please stop - hey! Please stop squirming, She-Ra, I’m trying to capture you!”

And Catra wants to tell Scorpia _not to call her Wildcat_ and _that's_ _Adora, not She-Ra_ but no words come out, still dazed from everything that just happened with Adora and the surprise of seeing Scorpia pop up out of seemingly nowhere. Part of her wants to roll her eyes because of _course_ Scorpia is politely asking her captive to sit still.

“Oh rats, where’s that doodad Entrapta gave me to capture She-Ra?” Scorpia is trying to hold down a wildly bucking Adora with one claw while she pats at her pockets. “Hey, Catra, can you check my pock-”

“I am not checking your pockets,” she refuses flatly, disgruntled her fight with Adora has been interrupted (and maybe just a tiny bit relieved).

Scorpia huffs as Adora punches her harmlessly, blows rebounding off her thick exoskeleton.

"Get off of me!” Adora growls, renewing her frantic squirming when she sees her punches are ineffective.

“She’s a scrappy one, isn’t she?” Then, in a move that was decidedly _not_ polite, she delivers a swift blow to Adora's head and knocks her out. “That’s better.” Scorpia rises slowly like she expects Adora to be faking unconsciousness.

Catra stares down at Adora’s limp form, aware of all her own aches as the adrenaline starts to wear off. Her jaw still smarts from Adora’s cheap shot - one she _probably_ deserved for running her mouth.

“Tie her up. We’re taking her to Hordak before Princess Sparkles tries to come to rescue her. I call shotgun on the ride back.”

“Ooh, don’t you mean Princess Glimmer? You know, I really do love what she does with her hair,” Scorpia babbles as another Horde soldier comes over with rope to help tie up Adora. “Oh, do you think you can do that for me? Make sure to make the knots extra tight - yeah, just like that, we don’t want her waking up and escaping. Thanks, it’s really hard to tie with claws, you know! I tend to just snap right through the rope.”

Catra is already loping over to the sword, only half paying attention to whatever Scorpia is chattering about. Wincing in pain, she leans down to pick it up, and grunts as she heaves it up. It’s always heavier than she anticipates.

“Wow, I bet Hordak is going to be so pleased, Wildcat! We have the sword and She-Ra. You did a great job distracting her, everything went to plan perfectly. The rest of the Princesses were forced to retreat, we really outnumbered them. They weren’t ready for us at all! Entrapta’s recon bots were so helpful, we took them completely by surprise!”

Catra gives a noncommittal grunt in lieu of a reply, staring at the sword thoughtfully. “You know, I bet Entrapta could do a lot with this First One’s tech,” Catra muses.

“Oh!” Scorpia sounds positively delighted. “You’re going to give Entrapta the sword as a present? See, Catra, this is why you’re such a great friend.” Scorpia throws her arm around Catra and squeezes. Catra hisses.

“Personal space!”

“Oh, sorry, sorry, you’re right.”

Catra doesn’t watch as Horde soldiers carry a sagging Adora onto a skiff. She doesn’t think about Scorpia calling her a great friend while her old friend is tied up as a prisoner, because she doesn’t care. Not at all.

She just climbs into a different skiff, readjusting her grip on the sword handle, and leans her head back, closing her eyes. The sword is heavy, and Catra is tired.

* * *

Rowdiness is discouraged in the Horde. It is not conducive for discipline, which Hordak expects explicitly from his troops. It looks like Hordak’s entire army is gathered, and the sound of so many people gathered in one place is as raucous as Catra has ever heard. Ordinarily, Hordak requires complete silence if he is going to address his troops. But today is an exception, a time to celebrate. She-Ra has been captured.

Hordak stands tall on his stage, and Catra is a respectful distance to his right as his second in command. Opposite of them is their prisoner, She-Ra. Of course, it’s not She-Ra, it’s Adora. Catra can’t help but look at her, down on her knees, hands tied tight behind her back. She stares unflinchingly into the jeering crowd, stubborn as ever. She is _captured!_ She is captured, beaten, but still, she refused to drop her head and submit. Catra supposes she can respect that though. Adora may have forgotten most of her training when she went to frolic with Princesses, but rule number one clearly still stuck with her. _Never show weakness._

The crowd is yelling profanities and screaming “Traitor!” up at Adora, who stares resolutely ahead, and Catra feels, absurdly, _proud._

“Settle,” Hordak commands, hardly raising his voice above the cacophony, but the crowd is hushed in moments. Hordak wields his power effortlessly, and the Horde follows without question. “Today, we have won a great victory. The remaining Rebellion forces have been surrounded and will soon be captured. They will be given the opportunity to swear fealty to me. Those who resist will be...dealt with accordingly.”

A chorus of cheers swells in the crowd, and Hordak almost smiles. It’s barely a twitch, and then it’s gone. Hordak waits a moment for the cheers to die down again before continuing.

“Our mission to eradicate the Princesses is nearly complete. It has taken years and great personal loss for us, but we did not break! We were resilient! We persevered! And today, with all of your dedicated work, we are one step closer to our dream. With special commendations to Force Captain Scorpia and Commander Catra -” More cheers explode from the crowd and Catra feels her spine straighten, a smile threatening to break her cool demeanor. She hears a loud cry of “Yeah! That’s my best friend! GO WILDCAT!” and her eyes swivel to Scorpia, whose face is shining with admiration while the other Force Captains surrounding her shake her and slap her back in congratulations. Catra does smile then, pleased, before she regains control and lets her face fall into a more neutral expression.

Hordak continues as though he were never interrupted. “Thanks to their efforts, we can begin with one Princess in particular.”

With this, he gestures to Adora, and the jeers ring out again. “She-Ra,” Hordak sneers, contempt dripping from the name. “For some of you, you may not recognize her like this. Others are very familiar. Some of you even spent your youth with her.” At this, Catra feels several eyes trained on her, and her tail twitches with irritation. “For those of you not familiar, let me explain. Before she was a Princess, she was Cadet Adora, one of our very own. Taken in as an orphan, raised by the Horde, fed by the Horde, trained by the Horde. We were her family.”

Hordak swivels on his heel, pacing slowly behind Adora now, who still keeps her head held high. “How did she repay us? With betrayal!” Displeased boos chorus from the crowd. “She tossed us aside, ensnared by magic and a soft life. It is a pity,” he says, kneeling down next to Adora. He reaches out to grasp her chin and turn it to face him. “She had so much potential.” Adora glares at Hordak but doesn’t make a sound, even as Catra watches his sharp claws pierce her skin. Pinpricks of blood well up as Hordak releases pressure and pulls away, rising once more to tower over Adora.

“Look - without her sword, She-Ra is merely a mortal, made of flesh and blood. She is _inconsequential_.” Hordak pauses, and Catra can feel the electricity in the air as the crowd nearly trembles with anticipation. “Regardless, we cannot let such traitorous actions go unpunished. I hereby sentence her to death.”

Catra can hardly hear the roar of the crowd over the rush of blood in her ears. _Executed?_ Catra had expected them to keep Adora prisoner, to try and lure the other Princesses out of hiding and into a trap. And then...what? They would win the war and she and Adora would live happily ever after? _Those who resist will be dealt with accordingly._

Catra feels like an idiot. Of course they will execute Adora. She will never yield, and she’s too dangerous to keep alive. It is the practical thing to do. It will deal a blow to the Rebellion and take the rest of the fight out of them. It is strategy, pure and simple. To show mercy when it wasn’t earned would be weakness.

Her mouth is traitorous. “No!” she says loudly, lurching toward where Hordak and Adora are. Both of them turn their heads sharply to look at her.

“You forget your place, Commander,” Hordak warns, eyes narrowed to red slits.

“Lord Hordak, don’t you think -”

He cuts her off harshly. “I have thought this through completely, Commander.” There is danger in every syllable, his tongue as sharp as a blade.

“But-” Catra feels frantic, trying to come up with something, _anything_ to keep this from happening.

A quiet sound. Her name, spoken so softly Catra almost misses it. Her eyes dart to Adora, who is looking at her, the stubborn look gone from her features for the first time during this whole spectacle. It is replaced by a look of resignation.

“Adora!” Catra’s voice cracks. Her heart is pounding, and she feels hyperfocused on Adora’s face. Adora has accepted her fate. Catra expects to see blame in Adora’s eyes, to see anger and hate, but she sees...forgiveness. Adora forgives Catra, and it shatters her.

“Enough,” Hordak growls, and then he is picking Adora up off her feet roughly, and Adora is straining her neck to look back at Catra. Catra is completely frozen. Catra wants to look away, she _doesn’t want to see this,_ but she doesn’t dare look away from Adora. Catra is only vaguely aware of the sounds around her, of the flash of steel as Hordak pulls back a sword.

“Catra,” Adora says again, just before Hordak plunges the blade into her chest, and Catra thinks the worst thing she’s ever seen in this world is the light leaving Adora’s eyes. She can hear the sword being pulled out of Adora’s body. Hordak lets her crumple to the floor, and still, Catra’s gaze doesn’t leave Adora’s eyes. They stare back lifelessly. Blood trickles out of Adora’s mouth and pools on the floor as it spills from her body.

Catra doesn’t move. She is blank. An illusion of peace. Absent of everything except for constant pain in her chest. Empty, dark, devoid of light. Adora was the sun, and she is gone.

Despondos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any mistakes are my own. Much thanks to my beta for all their hard work. Chapter title and lyrics are from Dance Gavin Dance.


	2. Oh my poor bones (rearrange them to fit your mold)

_Who took the light from our life_  
_The life from our eyes?_  
_All we did was suffer_

* * *

Catra isn’t sure how long she stands there. Time is meaningless. The assembly disperses and she can hear, distantly, the sounds of parties being thrown in celebration for their victories. Before he leaves, Hordak inclines his head toward her, his eyes mocking.

She hates him. She mulls over the thousand ways she’d love to kill him as she keeps a silent vigil at Adora’s side.

“Catra?” A cautious Scorpia is next to her, concern slanting her eyebrows. Catra is so out of it she didn’t even hear Scorpia coming, a feat in itself since she wasn’t the most stealthy of individuals. “Are you-?”

“Fine,” Catra barks, her throat rough. She realizes her claws are digging into her palm and tries to take a steadying breath, but the exhale is shaky.

Scorpia takes her rudeness in stride though, unflappable as ever. “Come on,” she coos, trying to coerce Catra into moving.

“No, I can’t...we can’t leave her.”

Scorpia hums in understanding. “Okay, we won’t,” she assures her, and Catra is grateful Scorpia isn’t questioning her about it. “Why don’t we clean her up?”

And it’s ridiculous, really, to clean her, because Adora is -

Catra shudders and nods jerkily. Scorpia makes like she’s going to pick Adora up, but Catra reaches a hand out, stopping her. “I’ve got her,” she insists. She squats low and slips an arm beneath Adora’s legs, the other behind her neck, trying desperately to ignore how cold Adora feels. Her muscles strain with effort - Adora is heavy, but she is Catra’s to carry, no one else’s.

“There’s an empty room near the medical bay,” Scorpia says. Catra indicates her to lead the way with a sharp nod of her head.

The hallways are blessedly empty of people. Catra doesn’t want to explain why she’s cradling a traitor in her arms. She doesn’t have the energy or desire. Her muscles are burning by the time she and Scorpia reach the room, but she welcomes the sensation. It helps focus her. If she’s thinking about keeping one foot in front of the other, she’s not thinking about the body in her arms.

Scorpia clears off a table for Catra to place Adora. She sets her down carefully, straightening out Adora’s limbs until she looks as natural as possible.

_Stupid._ Adora doesn’t care what she looks like, she doesn’t care if Catra handles her like glass or slams her on the table, doesn’t _anything_ anymore because she’s -

Scorpia is nudging her gently out of the way, a clean rag in one claw, a bowl of fresh water in the other. Catra watches as she dips the rag into the water and wrings it out awkwardly, then begins dragging it over Adora’s skin, wiping the dirt away. Whenever the filth and blood get to be too much, Scorpia dips the rag back into the bowl. Red leeches out of the rag in tendrils and it reminds Catra of Shadow Weaver.

“The Horde doesn’t usually hold them, but we could do a funeral for her,” Scorpia ventures, peering up at Catra with uncertainty.

“Funeral?” The word is foreign to Catra.

“A death rite...to kind of send the person on.”

Catra has never heard of such a thing. Once someone was dead, wasn’t it just a waste of time and resources to be performing rites? “How do you-?”

“My parents had one for my grandfather when I was young. It’s just a way to honor someone when they pass on.”

Catra considers it, and Scorpia begins to clean Adora’s other arm. If it was anyone else, Catra wouldn’t bother, but for Adora… “Yeah, okay. What do we do?”

“We’ll finish cleaning - cleaning her,” Scorpia stumbles, and Catra is sure she was about to say ‘the body’ and she’s relieved she didn’t. Saying it out loud would complicate her mental state, and as it was, she feels like she is just barely keeping it together. Catra feels sick. She needs something to do.

“Let me do that,” Catra says. It comes out more harshly than she intends, but she snatches the sopping rag from Scorpia and doesn’t apologize. Scorpia is more than acquainted with her ability to be brusque and isn’t bothered by it. Catra picks up where the other woman left off, cleaning the dirt from Adora’s hands. Hands that had gripped her arms only hours ago, that were warm and strong, and now they are cold because Adora is -

“Then what?” Catra demands. “After the cleaning.” She stares at the fresh claw marks on Adora’s arm with a twinge of regret, letting her fingers run over the wounds slowly.

“Uh, well, we can say some words, like, nice things, not mean ones. And I guess there’s not really a good place to bury her, so...cremation?”

“Cremation?” Catra is positive she knows what it means, but she’s not processing information so well right now. Her brain keeps trying to replay the previous hour every time she blinks.

“Burning.” Scorpia winces like she’s sorry she even suggested it.

Catra’s insides recoil at the thought of watching Adora burn, but when she considers the alternatives, she knows it’s the best choice. Her tongue is stuck, so she nods in agreement. She’s beginning to wonder if her neck will be sore from all the nodding she’s doing today. They both go silent as Catra works. She’s dabbing around the edges of the sword wound when the door to the room hisses open. Catra freezes, heart leaping wildly in her chest, tail puffing up in alarm, but it’s only Entrapta.

“Oh hey, how did you know we were here?” Scorpia asks.

“My prototype tracking devices!”  Entrapta explains happily, like it isn’t a huge violation of personal space to be planting tracking devices on people. Catra wonders when exactly Entrapta put one on her and where it’s at. She decides in the same moment she doesn’t want to know. “Actually, I think Catra’s device is glitching, it kept leading me through the ventilation shafts...uh, is that Adora?” Entrapta has finally taken notice of what Catra is doing and is walking over curiously. “Oh.” Her voice is small, and a little surprised, Catra thinks. She doesn’t blame Entrapta for the shock. Adora always seemed inevitable. It was hard to imagine someone like her would ever lose, a fact Catra had found infuriating multiple times in her life. “But she’s…”

“Yeah,” Catra cuts her off aggressively. Entrapta falls quiet, the only sound coming from the water dripping as Catra wrings out the rag again. She wonders if they notice how her hands shake. Then, Entrapta is leaning over to look at Adora and she’s got her stupid recorder held in her hair and up to her mouth.

“Subject appears to have suffered a fatal wound to the chest, approximately twelve centimeters in length and five centimeters in diameter -”

“What the _fuck_!?” Catra rages, dropping her rag and swiping out to snatch the recorder from Entrapta, who pulls it back to her chest with haste.

“I’m keeping a thorough record of the events!”

“Fuck your log! Give me that recorder!” Catra lunges, but she is scooped up by Scorpia, trapped between two chitinous arms.

“Woah, calm down there Catra, she didn’t mean anything by it.”

Catra hisses and struggles against Scorpia’s claws. “She can’t just treat this like another one of her experiments!” Catra squeezes her eyes tight, trying to get rid of the burning sensation in them.

_Adora saying her name. Hordak’s sword running through her chest. Blood, so much blood, spilling onto the floor._

She gasps and wrenches her eyes open. Pressure is building in her head and her vision is blurry. “She can’t just come in and make observations - ugh, _let me go, Scorpia,_ fucking let me go!”

“No can do, Wildcat, you need to calm down,” Scorpia says seriously.

“I’ll calm down when that recorder is destroyed!” Catra snarls and redoubles her efforts to escape. She squirms and claws and spits with anger, but Scorpia is unyielding.

“Is this the socially acceptable reaction to great personal loss?” Entrapta asks, regarding Catra with equal parts curiosity and caution. “I am not certain what the correct response is. Should I also be angry? I don’t feel anger, but I do feel sadness. I liked Adora.” Even Entrapta’s hair looks like it has wilted. Catra sags in Scorpia’s grasp, chest heaving from exertion. “I’m sorry to have upset you, Catra. I’m only trying to understand.”

Catra feels the remains of her anger drain away, and Scorpia must sense it as well because she gradually releases her. Catra stands unsteadily, inhaling deeply.

“Can you guys...I’ll finish this alone, ok?” she mumbles, staring resolutely at the floor, refusing to meet their gazes. Finally, Scorpia pats her shoulder.

“Come get us when you’re done, ok?” Catra listens to them leave, the pneumatic door hissing closed behind them. She slumps to the floor and spends several minutes there, her head buried in her arms, tail wrapped tightly around her ankles.

When she feels slightly more composed, she climbs back to her feet, and if there’s a tremble in her legs, well, no one has to know. The rag she was using is in a heap on the floor, and Catra doesn’t want to clean Adora with a _floor rag_ , so she rummages around in the drawers until she finds a clean one. She’s stalling, she knows, but the part she’s been dreading has arrived. There’s only Adora’s face left to clean.

She hasn’t looked at Adora’s face once since leaving the assembly. It makes the wet heat in her eyes return, and she’s spent this entire time trying to keep it together. She blinks rapidly and takes a few deep breaths, then gently drags the dampened rag over Adora’s face. She cleans the dried trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth and sweeps the dirt and sweat from the hollows of her cheeks, the crease of her nose, the space behind her ears. Catra remembers how Adora’s nose would crinkle when she laughed or smiled in a certain type of way, usually when the two of them were getting into some sort of mischief. She remembers how the tips of her ears would flush red when she was embarrassed or frustrated. A hundred expressions and reactions seared into her memory.

Catra’s fingertips shake as she brushes back loose wisps of blonde hair, smoothing them back so they’re not in Adora’s eyes. Eyes that are still open, unseeing. They’re more gray than blue now. There’s no more light in them, no flash of cockiness, the self-assuredness that Catra knew so well. There’s no more compassion, or concern, or laughter, or sadness; sadness is what she’d seen the most as the years went by, and usually when she was looking back at Catra. No, maybe sadness wasn’t the right word. It had been more like...regret. Adora had such expressive eyes, and it always made it so easy for Catra to read her. Now, there’s nothing left to read, because Adora is -

“Dead,” Catra whispers, her throat thick with emotion, and a strangled sob leaves her. The feelings she’s been trying to smother are rising to the surface until hot tears are spilling down her cheeks. “Dead. You idiot, you weren’t supposed to die!” Catra is grasping at one of Adora’s cold hands, gripping too tightly, but it’s okay. Adora can’t feel it anyway. She can’t seem to stop her tears. “You weren’t supposed to die,” she repeats, gasping. “It was supposed to be you and me, _always_.”

Catra can’t breathe. She thinks her grief might strangle her. She thinks that might be alright.

She whispers apologies over and over in between the sobs wracking her body. Sometimes it’s not an apology, sometimes it’s _you left me, you left me, you left me_ until eventually she is wrung out and her tears are spent. She rubs her eyes, congested and exhausted, her head throbbing with sorrow.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be better,” Catra says, her voice a croak. With two fingers, she eases Adora’s eyelids down, a hiccup escaping from her chest. She leans over and places a soft kiss on Adora’s forehead, the skin smooth and cool under her lips. Catra wipes the errant teardrops that have fallen on Adora’s face and takes another tremulous breath. “Bye, Adora.”

* * *

They take Adora to the Whispering Woods for the funeral. Scorpia and Catra build something Scorpia calls a pyre to place Adora’s body on. Well, Scorpia does most of the building. Entrapta keeps suggesting improvements they don’t have the time (or need) for.

Catra...Catra feels like she hasn’t slept in days. She tries to help make the pyre, but she doesn’t know what to do and Scorpia keeps shooing her away. Normally, Catra would love lying around while everyone else did the manual labor, but she’s desperate for something to keep her occupied.

“There!” Scorpia declares, hammering the log into place and clacking her claws happily. “It’s finished.”

“Structurally sound,” Entrapta approves.

_Who cares?_ Catra wants to scream. She doesn’t. Scorpia places Adora’s body onto the pyre. Catra lets her. Carrying Adora’s body to the place she’s going to burn feels too heavy for Catra to handle right now. Scorpia folds Adora’s hands over her stomach, and she looks like she could just be resting, except for the blood-stained clothes and the fact she’s not breathing.

“We just need to light it,” Scorpia says, patting her sides for several seconds before chuckling a little nervously. “Uh, the thing is..”

“What?” Catra narrows her eyes with suspicion.

“I sort of, kind of, maybe forgot to bring something to light the fire. Do you have anything?”

“Me? I don’t know how to do any of this shit, this was your idea! Does it look like I brought a fucking can of gasoline and some matches with me?”

“I have some explosives,” Entrapta suggests cheerily.

“ _No!_ ” Catra and Scorpia yell at the same time. Catra tugs at her hair, silently counting to ten so she doesn’t boil over. _They’re trying to help._ _They’re trying to help._ “Does anyone. Have anything. To light this?” Catra speaks slowly, trying to swallow her anger down.

“Well if explosives aren’t a go, I guess this blowtorch could work?” Entrapta is digging through her various pockets now with both her hands and her hair until she finds the aforementioned tool with a triumphant cheer.

“Why are you carrying around a blowtorch? You know what, don’t answer that,” Catra pinches her nose in frustration. “Just light it.” This whole funeral thing has turned into a mess. She should be grieving or destroying something, not dealing with this fuckery. What she really needs is sleep and to just not... _think_...for like, a minute.

“Wait! We can’t light it yet,” Scorpia sounds exasperated. “We should say something first.” She tilts her head, regarding Catra hopefully. When Catra doesn’t say anything, Scorpia clears her throat. “Okay, I’ll go first.” She clears her throat a second time, composing herself. “I uh, I heard more about Adora than I actually knew her. I heard she was going to be one of the youngest Force Captains in Horde history, so I knew she was a hard worker. She was admired and envied by many. I know she became our enemy once she defected, but I could tell she was compassionate and kind. It’s too bad we all couldn’t be friends.” Scorpia places a claw on Catra’s shoulder. “I know you two had a complicated friendship, but I could tell you both cared about each other, even though you tried to deny it. It would have been nice, I think. We could have been the Super Pal Quadruple - no, Quartet? Wait, aren’t those singing groups? Oh! We could have been a singing group!” Scorpia’s face lights up at the idea, but her excited expression falls at Catra’s flattened ears and scowl. “Oh, right um, anyway. In spite of everything, I know Adora was a good person. Otherwise, she couldn’t have been one of Catra’s best friends. May her soul rest easy.” Scorpia removes her arm from Catra and rubs at the back of her neck. “Was that okay?”

“Tangent about singing groups aside,” Catra tries for some dry humor. It feels out of place for the situation, but the other option is crying, so. Honestly, though, it was sweet. “Thanks,” she adds and leaves it at that. Scorpia seems to understand and she hugs Catra firmly. Catra gives her a good ten seconds before she squirms away.

“Would you like to say anything, Entrapta?” Scorpia offers. Entrapta’s hair strokes at her chin thoughtfully before she launches into her speech.

“I’m sad Adora is dead,” she says bluntly. “Scientifically speaking, she was fascinating! I would have loved to study the mechanics behind her transformations in She-Ra. Ah! The knowledge she had about the First Ones could have led to huge breakthroughs in my research. She was something of a marvel if you think about it. Testing my prototypes against her strength aided greatly in the improvements of Emily as well. Yes, I will sorely miss Adora’s helpfulness, and I only wish there had been time for more extensive testing. At the very least, I’ll be able to gather valuable data with the sword we collected…” She trails off, apparently already deep in thought about the experiments to be conducted.

Catra doesn’t know anything about funerals, but she’s positive this had to be one of the most bizarre eulogies ever given. Frankly, it was probably the best they could expect from Entrapta, though.

“That was lovely, Entrapta,” Scorpia beams, and Catra is also sure the woman is one hundred percent serious. “Ok, that just leaves you, Catra. Do you want to add anything?”

What can she say? How can she sum up Adora’s life in a neat little speech, not to mention their convoluted history with each other? Friend, enemy, they were always drifting somewhere between the two. There are not enough words to explain who Adora was to Catra. She’s not even sure if she knows it all herself. She had admired Adora, been jealous of her, idolized her, trusted her, _hated_ her. But she had also cared for her...she had loved Adora. The line between love and hate was just blurry.

Wordlessly, Catra pries the blowtorch from where Entrapta is holding it in her hair. She steps carefully over the pyre, and Catra has the strangest sensation the woods are watching everything happening now. With a flick of her thumb, she turns the torch on and holds it up to the wood until the flames begin to catch. She blows on the flames to encourage them to grow, and soon the air is filled with crackles and pops, disturbing the quiet of the forest. She backs away as the heat from the fire washes over her and plops the blowtorch back into Entrapta’s waiting palm.

Catra lets Scorpia wrap an arm around her shoulder; on her opposite side, Entrapta takes her hand, and they watch the pyre burn together in silence.

“I wish I could...say goodbye,” Catra says, eyes stinging from the heat and the smoke, and definitely not because she’s going to cry again. “If I could have one more day to just not fuck it all up...”

Scorpia squeezes her side. “It’ll be okay.”

It won’t be.

It isn’t.

* * *

The next month passes in a haze. Catra has taken to drinking until she blacks out. Scorpia is rightly concerned, and waking up is absolutely awful because she feels like shit, but it’s the only way she can sleep. She’s tried to go without; every time it ends the same, with Catra jolting awake with a scream in her throat, coated in sweat and trembling. There’s only so many times she can watch Adora die.

If Hordak notices her constant inebriation and exhaustion, he doesn’t mention it. He’s been preoccupied as of late. Catra’s fine with this. She still hasn’t come up with the best plan to kill him yet. After, she thinks, maybe she’ll finally leave this place. Travel. She doesn’t know. She only knows she doesn’t want to be _here_ any longer than she has to. There are too many memories.

She’s climbed to one of the highest points in the Fright Zone and is nursing a bottle of vodka. It tastes like ass, but all she’s really concerned with is getting wasted so she doesn’t dream tonight, so it’ll do the trick, ass or not.

She swallows another mouthful, grimacing at the taste, and leans back, gaze skyward. The constant smog here does little to enhance the view, but it's still better than the shitshow down below. Once upon a time, the sky was supposed to be full of stars, but those have been gone for so long they’re more like a myth. Catra doesn’t know if they really ever existed at all, or if it was just a story people told. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. They’re not there and maybe they never were. Catra’s just glad she doesn’t have to go out on a mission right now. Most of the Rebellion forces had retreated anyway, holing up in the few kingdoms that were still standing.

Catra wonders if Adora’s princess pals know she’s dead. She wonders if they would believe it if they knew. She wouldn’t fault them for not wanting to accept it; Catra has a hard time with it herself most days. It’s difficult to think that all that remains of Adora is ashes, strewn throughout the Whispering Woods by the wind. All Catra has left of her is a sword she can’t stand to look at, and technically Entrapta has it anyway.

The nights she doesn’t spend dreaming about Adora’s death, she spends dreaming of the funeral. The worst ones always start off the same way, with Catra next to the burning pyre, close enough to see Adora’s face. Then she is watching Adora’s eyes pop open, and she begins to scream as the fire blisters her skin, and Catra screams too, trying to run through the flames to save Adora, but Catra never succeeds. In those nightmares, Adora never looks forgiving. It leaves Catra heavy with guilt. _I killed her._

With a growl, Catra lifts the bottle to her lips again, alcohol spilling over her chin and onto her chest. It burns in her throat all the way down. She keeps drinking until the bottle is empty and her vision is blurry around the edges. She closes her eyes, limbs heavy, world spinning in the dark. Dimly, she thinks she should try to find her bed, but getting up feels like too much work. Oh well, it won’t be the first time she passes out in a place that’s not her room.

“CATRAAAAA!”

“Fuck,” Catra groans. She cracks one eye open, then shuts it immediately as her vision swims.

“Catra, are you up there?!” It’s Scorpia, yelling from down below somewhere.

“How did you find me?” Catra slurs, throwing an arm over her face with incredible effort. It’s not that she’s hiding, but....well, yeah, she’s hiding, specifically from Scorpia and her disappointed looks. She hears thumping and then feels shaking as Scorpia climbs up to where Catra is sprawled. It’s impressive that Scorpia can even get up here; it’s not the easiest of locations to reach. By the time Scorpia has made it to the top, she is panting.

“There you are, Wildcat,” Scorpia takes a couple of deep breaths, then hums with disapproval. “You’re drinking again.”

“Ding, ding, ding. We haaaave a winnder,” Catra pauses, then laughs. “Winnder. I mean _winner_.” Catra cracks an eye open again, squinting at Scorpia. “Hey, there’s two of you. Did Entrapta finish her clonin’ machine?”

“There’s only one of me, Catra, you’re just drunk.”

“Exactly! Now lea’ me ‘lone.” Catra closes her eyes again, because looking at both Scorpias is making her head spin.

“Let’s go,” Scorpia says, and Catra flails as she is suddenly being lifted into the air.

“Why d’you always MANHANDLE meeeee,” Catra whines and throws her head back dramatically. She feels like a noodle. An uncoordinated noodle.

“I’m getting you sobered up, Catra,” Scorpia sounds both severe and sad, and Catra tries to lift her noodle neck up to look at her, but she sort of just flops, her face squishing into Scorpia’s arm until she’s able to roll back a little. Catra taps a nail on Scorpia’s exoskeleton to get her attention. “Hey. HEY! I’m _fiiine_. I just needed a lil’ drink so I don’t _think_ so much,” she explains, tapping herself on the forehead a little harder than she means to. “Ow.”

“Drowning yourself in alcohol isn’t going to solve anything, Catra,” Scorpia sighs. “You could talk to me...maybe I could help.”

Inexplicably, Catra feels very upset, which is annoying, because she was feeling _fine_ , but then Scorpia had to go and get all _serious_ on her, which only serves to make her more upset. “I don’t wanna talk abou’ it. S’not gonna fix anything. Adora is still gonna be...still gonna be my fault…” Catra feels like she’s going to cry. She does not want to cry. She screws up her face to stop the tears. Her face feels funny.

The next thing Catra knows, she’s waking up in her own bed, nauseated, head pounding, and confused. “Wha-?” she groans, wincing at the sound of her own voice. Her mouth is cottony and gross, and she grimaces as a wave of nausea rolls through her stomach.

“You passed out on the way back,” she hears and nearly jumps out of her skin. It’s Scorpia, holding out a glass of water.

“Thanks,” Catra mutters, sipping the cold water slowly. It settles her stomach a little, helps with the dryness of her mouth. Catra thinks she should maybe apologize to Scorpia, but it’s not like she _asked_ for help. “What do you want?” she says instead.

“Entrapta has something she wants to show you.”

“Got it...let me just...I’ll meet you in the lab.”

Scorpia is giving her a long, searching look, and Catra thinks Scorpia’s going to say something about her drinking problem again, but thankfully she turns and leaves instead. Catra flops back onto her bed, regretting the decision immediately as her head throbs in protest.

“Fuck,” she mumbles, massaging her temples. At least she didn’t have any nightmares. When she can finally stand up without wanting to vomit, she stumbles into her shower. One of the perks of being Hordak’s Second is that she gets her own room and her own personal shower. No more sharing with the other cadets, and she can take as long as she wants.

She stands still under the stream, the heat from the water slowly easing the tension in her muscles, steam building in the enclosed space until the water starts to go cold and she hastily washes. Her head is marginally better when she finally steps out, but she knows she will be hungover for most of the day. The thought of food makes her stomach roil unpleasantly, so she dresses and heads for Entrapta’s lab, glaring at anyone who looks like they want to talk to her along the way.

Entrapta is engrossed in something when she enters the lab, not even looking up to greet Catra. Catra doesn’t take it personally, Entrapta is usually like this.

“So what’s the big deal?” Catra asks. “Scorpia says you wanted to see me.”

“Catra!” Entrapta yells, and the shriek pierces through Catra’s skull.

“Shit, _volume_ , woman,” Catra hisses, ears flattening to her head.

“Remember how you were saying at Adora’s funeral how you wished you could say goodbye? Well, Hordak has had me working on this portal to another dimension -”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“- and I realized in the middle of working on it that I could use this to transport a consciousness _through time and space!_ ” Entrapta babbles, doing nothing to lower her volume. In fact, she may be getting louder. “It’s an idea that I’ve toyed with before, but I’ve never had the necessary catalyst to power something like this!” Entrapa is absolutely ecstatic, literally lifted off the floor as her long hair pushes her up. “But then you gave me She-Ra’s sword! I didn’t make the connection at first, but while I was doing my research into the First Ones, I stumbled across a legend that said the last She-Ra moved the _entire planet_ into the dimension we’re currently in! Can you imagine the kind of power it would take to move a planet and its moons? It’s astronomical! So,” Entrapta hurries over to where the sword is laid out across a table, running her hands reverently over the surface. “If the old She-Ra could move all of that to another dimension, who’s to say this doesn’t have the power to send someone back in time? All it would take is the right wormhole and the ability to exceed the speed of light,” Entrapta is muttering feverishly, and Catra’s head pounds. She is completely lost.

“Entrapta, can we try that in not science-y terms please?”

“Right!” She straightens, lifting her goggles from her face. “I can use the sword to send you back in time so you can say goodbye to Adora.”

“Oh.” Catra blinks at Entrapta, stunned. Entrapta smiles toothily, nodding her head like an insane bobblehead. “Well, fuck me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, much thanks to my beta for editing this chapter. Song title and lyrics are from PVRIS, whose albums I listened to on repeat as I wrote this. Thank you to everyone who left a comment on chapter one, I love feedback, it feeds my soul. Also, many thanks to those who gave me kudos as well. I appreciate all my readers.


	3. (Only this is) gonna be the death of me

_I would tell you I don’t miss her_  
_Cries of love reduced to a whisper_  
_But the truth is that her ghost it haunts me still_

* * *

“Explain, Entrapta,” Catra’s tail flicks with agitation.

“I have been working on this baby here,” Entrapta pats a complicated piece of equipment fondly. “To transport objects through dimensions. Well, time is the fourth dimension, so if we can transport objects between dimensions, as the previous She-Ra has proven to be possible, what’s stopping us from sending something through time?” She’s explaining all of this as she tinkers with the machine, adjusting bolts and nuts and checking cables. “It would be easier to send you forward - the theory of relativity shows that time passes at different rates for people who are moving relative to one another. This effect becomes large when you get close to the speed of light.”

“Uh...huh,” Catra purses her lips, trying to follow, but the nagging ache in her head is making it difficult.

“To travel back, though, we need to go _faster_ than the speed of light. Do you follow?"

Catra sighs, picking at her nails. “You lost me at ‘theory of relativity’." She yawns. “Entrapta. I don’t get this science crap, you _know_ that.”

“She’s saying it’s never been possible before because going faster than the speed of light is impossible,” Scorpia says. Catra jerks her head up in surprise. When the fuck did she get here? “You look better,” Scorpia remarks.

“Yeah, well, looks are deceiving,” Catra grumbles. “How do you know all of that?”

“It was in Force Captain Orientation.”

For a moment, Catra falls for it, but then she sees the tug at the corner of Scorpia’s mouth, and she glares. “Har, har, you’re hilarious.” Scorpia laughs.

“I learned it from Entrapta. She’s been talking about this for days.”

“Alright, so it’s possible now because of the sword?”

“Precisely!” Entrapta exclaims, then amends, “Well, possibly.”

“You don’t sound certain.”

“I’m 88.63% positive it will work.”

“Reassuring,” Catra says dryly.

“Isn’t it?” Entrapta agrees, sarcasm flying right over her head, per usual. “The sword will act as the catalyst and we can send you back to a specific point in time, provided we get the right wormhole.”

“Where? When?” Catra can’t really wrap her head around all of this. If it were anyone other than Entrapta, she’d think she was being bullshitted.

“Uncertain! I’m hoping that you - the time traveler in this scenario - will be able to dictate where you end up. I can narrow it down with some calculations if you give me a specific timeline, but the rest is up to you.”

“So, let’s say this works,” Catra muses, pacing the floor. She steps over wires with practiced ease. “Won’t it be weird if there’s two of me running around?”

“Oh, there won’t be. I’m really only sending back your consciousness because it’s physically impossible for two versions of you to exist simultaneously in the same dimension. That could be catastrophic!”

Scorpia snorts. “It could be...Catrastrophic,” she smirks, shoulders shaking with laughter. Entrapta blinks at her, then throws her head back in a maniacal laugh that lasts for far too long.

“It wasn’t that funny,” Catra says, eyes wide, completely bewildered. Entrapta wipes the tears from her eyes, muttering ‘catrastrophic’ to herself.  

“I very much enjoyed the play on words, Scorpia. Ah...anyway, you should retain your current memories while inhabiting a younger Catra. You’ll just displace her temporarily.”

“...Right,” Catra pauses. “I’ll trust you on that. Wait. Temporarily?”

“I can only send you back for one day, Catra. Any longer and we risk disrupting the timeline. The entire universe could be at stake!” Entrapta is smiling like this is the most exciting possibility that could happen. “Or maybe it will be fine. We can’t really know for sure, there are no recorded instances of time travel to refer to.” She slaps her goggles back down over her face and squats down to weld.

Catra resumes her pacing. _One day. One day to say goodbye. And then…_

Then Adora would go back to being dead.

Catra swallows down the bile rising in her throat. Was it even worth the effort if it wasn’t going to change anything? Any number of things could go wrong. This whole damn endeavor could kill her. Catra exhales slowly, closing her eyes.

“You don’t have to do this, Catra,” Scorpia says, and Catra senses the taller woman hovering behind her.

Catra keeps her eyes closed. Scorpia is right, she doesn't have to take the risk. Still...she can see Adora’s smile bloom in the darkness behind her eyelids.

The chance to see that again, as more than just a memory, is too tempting to pass up.

“Let’s do it.”

Entrapta squeals and throws her arms around Catra in a display of unabashed excitement. “This is so thrilling! Isn’t science amazing?”

_As long as it doesn't kill me_ , Catra supposes.

* * *

Entrapta has more calculations to work out before they’re able to go through with things, and she insists Catra be one hundred percent sober before they attempt anything.

“I don’t want any of your findings misinterpreted because you’re feeling the aftermath of your daily binges. I need _clear_ empirical data, Catra!”

Unfortunately, she’s probably right. So now she’s chugging water and mechanically stuffing tasteless rations into her mouth while Entrapta works and Emily the robot clambers around, retrieving tools for the scientist.

“You’re sure about this, Wildcat?” Scorpia asks, handing over another ration bar. Catra pushes it away with a grimace.

“No more, if I eat another bite I’ll hurl,” she groans.

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“I wouldn’t have agreed if I wasn’t sure,” she says, crumpling a wrapper in her fist.

“It could be dangerous. It probably _is_ dangerous.” Scorpia leans over to pick up the trash Catra has thrown to the floor. “Don’t litter, you know how Entrapta is about that,” she reprimands.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been in danger, Scorpia, don’t nag me. I’m doing this.”

Scorpia chews on her lip in silence for several minutes. “You know…” she begins, coughs and clears her throat. Catra’s ear flicks in response. “For a long time, I’d hoped...It’s just that…”

Catra raises a brow at the fumbling woman. Scorpia is clearly nervous. “What?”

Scorpia’s face is red and she is staring straight ahead at Entrapta, purposefully avoiding Catra’s gaze. “I’ve always really liked you, Catra,” Scorpia confesses. “I guess I just hoped that we’d end up…”

Catra sighs, focuses on her toes. “I know.” She feels uncomfortable. She’s not blind after all. She’s seen how Scorpia has looked at her, acted around her, and Catra had kind of just...hoped those feelings would go away. She’s not sure what to say, because she doesn’t want to hurt Scorpia’s feelings, but...

Scorpia tilts her head in Catra’s direction, looking embarrassed and a little sad. “I know you don’t feel the same...I just want you to know. I’m here for you.”

Catra tears her vision away from the floor to look at Scorpia. “Look,” she says, running her tongue along her incisor and pulling at a tuft of hair hanging by her cheek. “You are...a really good person, Scorpia. And you deserve someone a lot better than me. I...I appreciate that you’ve always been there for me.”

Scorpia is smiling a little, the flush in her cheeks receding. “It’s okay. I think I get it.”

“Yeah, well,” Catra huffs, scuffing her foot along the ground. “Anyway, you’re still like, my best friend or whatever.”

“Awww, Wildcat,” Scorpia practically squeals, and then she’s hugging Catra hard enough to lift her off the ground. “You should talk about your feelings more often, I think it’s healthy for you.”

“Ugh, please don’t,” Catra chuckles, patting her friend’s arm lightly. “I’ve hit my quota for the day. Put me down.”

Scorpia complies, and she’s beaming widely at Catra like she didn’t just get her heart a little bit broken only moments ago. And Catra feels bad because Scorpia really is _such a good person_ , she wonders what someone like Scorpia could ever see in her. Catra is made up of broken bits and rage, all jagged and terrible, but for some reason, Scorpia and Entrapta have both stuck around. It makes Catra wish she had been a little more appreciative of them over the years. It makes her wish she could feel something other than hollow at the loss of Adora, but that emptiness is like a yawning chasm in her chest and all the edges sting.

Worse, she doesn’t know how to explain it to either of her friends. Why they can’t be enough to fill that space.

“Alright,” she says gruffly, pulling herself out of dark thoughts. “I feel sober. Can we do this thing now?”

“Oh, I’ve been done for a while, I was just observing,” Entrapta says. She’s sitting on the ground, munching cheerfully on a tiny cupcake. She brushes crumbs from her shirt with a flick of her hair. “First, I’ve made this bracelet for you, Catra.”

“Ooh, is it a friendship bracelet?” Scorpia asks. “Do I get one?”

“No, it’s Catra’s anchor to this timeline, so her mind can find its way back to her body. But, we can make friendship bracelets later, if you’d like.” Entrapta clasps the bracelet on Catra’s wrist, a small blue light flickering to life along the side. “All systems are a go!”

Entrapta shoves Catra toward the portal eagerly.

“I can walk on my own, woman,” Catra grumps.

“As soon as I insert the sword into this slot here, it’s going to power the machine. Just think about where you want to be, and that’s where you should end up. Well, unless something goes wrong. Maybe traveling through the wormhole will cause you to combust, or drive you insane, or you’ll get lost forever in time!”

“You really need to work on your motivational speaking,” Catra mutters.

“Lost in time forever?” Scorpia asks, voice pitched with worry.

“Oh, well, that’s why I thought of the bracelet. It should act as a beacon and lead her right back here. A touch of science here, a dash of magic there,” Entrapta hums with a grin.

The thing is, Catra really doesn’t want to think about combusting or getting lost in time; she’s afraid she’ll lose her nerve, and she _has to do this._ So without waiting, she grabs the damn sword herself and slides it into the slot Entrapta has built for it, watching as the portal bursts to life, all bright light and crackling energy.

“Fascinating!” Entrapta gasps, eyes wide with delight. “Now, remember,” she says seriously. “You can’t change anything. This is just an opportunity to make peace if you will. And _try_ to pick a more recent day, I have no idea what could happen if you go back too far."

“Be careful, Catra!” Scorpia calls, sounding for all the world like someone who’s worried but trying not to be.

“Well, you know me,” Catra grins. “Always careful. See you guys when I get back?”

“We’ll make you a bracelet!” Scorpia promises.

With a two-fingered salute, Catra slips back into the portal, letting the light swallow her up.

* * *

There’s nothing for a while, save for a curious tingling sensation. Catra can’t see anything per se, it’s mostly just darkness with suggestions of light flying by. It occurs to Catra this isn’t very exact data for Entrapta to work with. This lasts for an indefinite amount of time - does time even exist in a wormhole? - until she feels a tug, followed by a wave of regret. It doesn’t feel like her own, which has been tinged with guilt and rage so recently. It feels...sharp, longing. It feels like - 

A desire to mend what is broken. To fix something without a foreseeable solution. The weight of destiny, crushing, suffocating. The need to prove capability, _worthiness_

It’s confusing because these flashes of emotion are so close to how Catra has felt at times, but they’re colored by a sense of duty to something greater than herself.

Catra never would have guessed Adora felt this way.

She knows it’s Adora’s feelings she’s sensing, and if she has to guess, they’re coming from the stupid sword.

It’s as Catra starts to think about Adora that things start to change around her. She can see glimpses of memories at the edges of her vision, gone when she tries to focus, but there when she lets herself relax. Many of the images don’t belong to her, but seem to be recorded histories of Adora’s life after she left the Horde. Adora with her new friends, smiling, laughing as she used to when she and Catra were kids.

The images shift, and now it’s Catra and Adora, running through the Fright Zone, giggling and shrieking as they chase each other. Catra remembers how carefree she’d been then. Well, more carefree than now, in any case. Growing up in the Fright Zone meant you had to let go of such frivolous activities quickly.

A melancholy chord strikes through Catra and the memories shimmer like ripples on water, distorting until they take on a new shape. Adora, hugging a pillow to her chest in the dark of her room, silent tears on her face.

Catra is taken aback. She’s always assumed that Adora was perfectly happy with her new life in Bright Moon. Maybe Adora hadn’t been trying to manipulate her when she’d claimed to miss her.

Catra recoils from the memory and it fades away like smoke. She’s supposed to be focusing on where she wants to go. The last seven years of her life had been spent fighting Adora. She’s not really sure how to choose a recent date, seeing as she can’t really stroll up to Adora and hang out for a day under those circumstances.

So maybe...a time before they were fighting. It’s not exactly recent, but it’s the best she has. She can go back to the day before Adora finds the sword, and they can spend a day together. And then Catra can go back.

_Take me back to then_ , she thinks, and light bursts into her vision, blinding her. She doesn’t have a body here, but she can feel her existence being stretched thin to the point of breaking. She worries this might be where she dies, that Entrapta has miscalculated and it won’t work.

Everything is going faster, flashes of memories flying by her so quickly she can’t make head or tail of them, and her molecules are being flattened into nothing. She’s disintegrating, losing all sense of self, and she feels panic flutter through her.

She’s on fire, surrounded by pain, trying to sob with lungs and air she doesn’t have because she’s _nowhere and everywhere_ all at once.

_Catra_!

The sound of her name echoes in her surroundings, and the pain recedes, soothed with a warming light.

Then it is dark.

* * *

The first thing she feels as she starts coming to is a sharp throbbing from her temple. Is she hungover? She raises her hand to her head, hissing in pain as she touches the sore bump there. No, not drunk. Concussed, perhaps, judging from the size of the lump. 

She opens her eyes slowly, letting herself adjust to the harsh white of the lights above her. It looks like she’s in the medical bay of the Fright Zone.

_It didn’t work,_ Catra thinks glumly. She’s not sure where the bump on her head has come from. Glancing down, she notices the bracelet Entrapta made for her still around her wrist. It flickers in and out of existence for a minute.

“The fuck...how hard did I hit my head?” She reaches out and touches the bracelet. It seems to stabilize. That’s when she notices her clothes. They’re different but in a familiar way. Her heart starts to hammer in her chest as the implications of what she’s seeing starts to become clear.

The door to the room eases open and Catra’s head snaps up, which she regrets instantly, wincing as her lump throbs in protest.

“Catra! You’re awake!” It’s Adora. Adora, alive, sweaty, looking at her with concern, and Catra can’t think of anything to say. She can hardly breathe. _It worked_.

“Are you okay? I didn’t mean to hit you that hard, I thought you were gonna dodge it,” Adora worries at her lip, stepping closer until Catra can smell the sweat clinging to Adora, feel the warmth of her body. Adora’s brow is furrowed as she studies the injury on Catra’s head. “Catra? You look funny. Please don’t tell me I gave you brain damage,” she says, hands coming up to cup Catra’s face, hot against her skin, and Catra wants to laugh. Once upon a time, she’d said something similar.

“Adora,” she whispers, hardly believing that she’s here, _alive_.

“You’re freaking me out a little, Catra,” Adora chuckles nervously. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

_I have,_ Catra wants to say, but she just studies the girl in front of her, at a loss for words. Her brain slowly catches up with everything, and she frowns. “Adora...you’re…”

“Yeah?”

“You’re like twelve.”

Adora huffs, arms crossing over her chest. “I’m thirteen and you know it, Catra.”

Thirteen. This was a _little_ further back than Catra intended to go. She glances down at her bracelet; again, it seems to flicker in and out of view. She gets the sense that she’s the only one who can see it. Some part of her thinks perhaps she should be freaking out - she just _traveled through time_ \- but she feels oddly calm. Adora is staring at her, waiting for a response, and it occurs to Catra that she’s being too quiet.

“You don’t look tall enough for thirteen,” Catra looks up through her lashes, grinning at the irritation that flashes on Adora’s face. Teasing Adora feels comfortable, easy. Easier than trying to make sense of everything that's happening, in any case.

“I should have hit you harder,” she says, and Catra laughs.

“Lucky shot, I was distracted.” Catra eases herself off the medical bed. Adora eyes her temple and her irritation melts away.

“Sorry about that,” she says a little guiltily. "It was like you zoned out right in the middle of the fight. Lucky for you, Shadow Weaver wasn't around, you know how she is."

Catra scoffs. "That bitch would have loved to see me get beaned in the skull."

"Catra!" Adora sounds scandalized. Right. Catra hadn't sworn so much as a thirteen-year-old.

"Well, she would have," she says defensively. "Especially getting beaten by you. It just would have proven to her that I'm worthless and you're perfect."

It's weird how easily the bitterness comes back to her again. It's weird to have even a fleeting care what Shadow Weaver thinks about her. In Catra's other timeline, she's dead. Catra blames her prickly emotions on being a teenager again. _Ugh_.

"You're not worthless, Catra. You're just as good as I am, when you pay attention." Adora is grinning, and Catra can't help but smile back. She has missed Adora so much.

"So, since I've been grievously injured, I don't have to go back to training, right?"

"Well, no…" Adora narrows her eyes in suspicion. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking we skive off for the rest of the day!"

"Catra, I should still go back, I just wanted to make sure you were okay," Adora says with reluctance.

No way was Catra spending her one day watching Adora _train_. "Come on, Adora. You owe it to me." She widens her eyes and pouts a little.

Adora's resistance wavers - Catra can see it in the way her shoulders sag. She makes a face like she can’t believe she’s doing this, but Catra can see the smile behind the expression.

“Alright, but first, we should really clean this up,” she gestures at Catra’s head. Catra reaches up, gingerly touching the bump. Her fingers come away with traces of blood she hadn’t noticed before.

“Shit, Adora, how hard did you hit me?”

“I said I was sorry,” Adora shrugs meekly. “Here,” She opens one of the nearby cabinets and retrieves rubbing alcohol and swabs. Catra flinches a little at first contact, hissing at the sting of the alcohol.

“Stop being a baby,” Adora says, the tip of her tongue peeking out between her lips in concentration.

“Stop abusing me, then,” Catra retorts, even though Adora is being gentle. Adora rolls her eyes and doesn’t comment further, focused on her task. Catra allows herself the moment to study the girl in front of her without scrutiny.

Adora at thirteen is rounder in the face than she remembers, and she’s got the gangly look of someone whose limbs are growing too fast for the rest of their body. The weariness Catra is used to seeing is gone, erased with the years. Catra can’t help but think that Adora looks so young, which is dumb, because _she is_ , but she knows what Adora’s going to look like as a woman, and her brain feels like it’s skipping as it tries to reconcile the image of the Adora she knows in the future and the Adora in front of her now. It makes her feel old.

Serious eyes flick up to meet hers. Catra’s insides lurch, the memory of those same eyes, open and lifeless, forcibly pushing its way to the front of Catra’s mind. Her hand latches onto Adora’s wrist, and Adora pauses.

“Are you done?” Catra asks roughly, wanting to be anywhere else than in this room. Adora’s eyebrows meet in the middle, gaze long and searching like she can tell something’s off with Catra. “I’m fine,” Catra insists before Adora can ask. “I just need some fresh air.”

“Good luck finding that here.” Adora’s smile is wry as she tosses the used swabs in the trash. “Come on,” she waves to Catra.

It’s fortunate that nobody pays them much mind, too absorbed in what they’re doing to bother with two fledgling cadets. Neither of them is important yet, and today, Catra’s fine with that. Adora leads the way for a while before she twists around questioningly.

“Where do you want to go?”

The thing is, when she had been Second in Command to Hordak, Catra had traveled Etheria. This Adora, here and now, has never known a life outside the Fright Zone. Catra wants to take Adora far away from here, to show her all the places she’s traveled, to impress her with everything she’s learned - she’s not really sure why that’s important, impressing Adora, but it is. It would be nice for Adora to look up to her for once. She only has a day, though.

Her second thought is the Whispering Woods, where they can go without being bothered, but that seems an awful lot like tempting fate. There are too many things tied to She-Ra in those woods, not to mention…

_Flames lick around a crackling pyre, around Adora’s body, consuming until there’s nothing left._

No, the Whispering Woods is a terrible idea.

“I don’t know,” Catra huffs with frustration. Adora watches her knowingly, reaches slim fingers out to circle Catra’s wrist and pulls, guiding her through winding halls until they exit out of the main building. Catra follows her up ladders and haphazardous scaffolding until they’re as high as they can go. Adora leans her elbows against the railing and peers out at the landscape. Catra sidles up next to her, their shoulders brushing.

“You always feel better when you’re up high,” Adora explains, and warmth settles in Catra’s chest.

“I like to have a good vantage point. It’s strategic.”

“I think you just like to look down on everyone else,” Adora teases.

“Well, I _am_ better than most of them,” Catra drawls, stifling a smile. Adora nudges her with enough force to knock her off balance. Catra glares playfully and pushes her back. It morphs into an all-out shove war, their sides pressed together as they try to overpower one another, legs braced, battling for leverage. It’s made all the harder because they’re both laughing and gasping for breath.

Catra steps to the side without warning and Adora goes lurching sideways, nearly falling flat on her face. She just manages to twist and throw her arms out to catch herself.

“Catra!” she yelps, and Catra cackles. She plops down next to Adora, legs hanging over the edge, sighing happily.

“Told you I was better.”

“Cheater.”

“Strategy,” Catra insists. 

“Whatever,” Adora concedes without _really_ conceding, pushing herself off the ground before mimicking Catra’s position. They knock their legs together, but it lacks the competition from moments ago. “How’s your head?”

Catra has almost forgotten about it, to be honest. “I’m fine. I’ve had worse.”

“What a way to start official Horde Cadet training, though,” Adora rubs at the back of her neck, a few stray hairs pulling loose from her ponytail.

“Tch. Stop worrying, Adora. We came up here to get away from that, remember?” Catra asks, poking the other girl in the center of her forehead. Adora’s eyes cross to look up at Catra’s finger.

“Yeah but-”

“Ah! No. We can go back to planning how we’re going to run this place tomorrow,” Catra says, smiling weakly. _Except, she doesn’t have tomorrow._ “Let’s just...sit for a while”

A comfortable silence settles over them, the hum of the Fright Zone like white noise thrumming in the background with the occasional creak and groan of metal. Catra's tail swishes from side to side; she feels content. It has been ages since Catra's been in Adora's presence without the thick thread of tension pulled taut between them. It feels nice to forget and relax.

Without meaning to, her eyes have shifted from the view in front of her to the one next to her. She drinks the sight in, and the ache of knowing she's going to have to leave pulses in her blood. She feels like she should be having some kind of heart-to-heart with Adora given the circumstances, but no words come. Catra's never been good at them anyway.

Adora catches her staring. "Catra, you're being weird. Are you _sure_ your head is okay?"

"I'm not being weird," she splutters because she can't exactly say, _well I'm from the future and you died, so..._

"You keep looking at me funny. Do I have something on my face?" Adora starts to wipe at her cheeks with the sleeve of her shirt.

"No, there’s nothing on your face. Maybe I just like the view," Catra says in an unusual fit of honesty. And, okay, the flirtiness isn't exactly intentional; it's something she'd started doing when she was older in her own timeline, because it threw Adora off balance, and it was fun. The habit just sort of slips into place, and it throws Adora off now too. Now, though, she doesn't look perturbed with Catra. Adora's cheeks are faintly pink, her face drawn into an expression of shy confusion, eyes soft around the edges.

Instead of snapping at Catra to stop or to cut it out, Adora's eyes jump away briefly, as though not sure where to look, then she smiles. The tips of her ears are flushed too, just like Catra remembers.

"Dork," Adora says, but it's soft, lacking any real bite.

"Nice comeback," Catra snorts, but happiness coils in her chest until it feels tight as a spring, ready to burst. Her tail curls around Adora's wrist and Adora doesn't move away. Catra smiles.

* * *

When it grows too dark to stay out any longer, she and Adora sneak their way back to the barracks.

The other cadets are already sleeping - Catra can hear Kyle's soft snores before they even reach the room.

They change quickly and quietly into their night clothes. Before Adora can climb into her bunk, Catra wraps her in a hug. She feels Adora stiffen in surprise before her muscles relax.

"Thanks, Adora," Catra whispers into Adora's neck. A hand comes up to scratch at a spot right behind Catra's ear. It feels so nice that she almost lets a purr escape, but catches herself.

"You're welcome, Catra," Adora says back, hushed. The hand behind her ear sweeps down over her hair soothingly. Catra pulls away first, mildly embarrassed. Adora gestures to her bunk, tilting her head in way of a question and Catra knows she is asking her if she wants to share.

And she's tempted, but she also knows she needs to return to her own timeline. With a shake of her head, she climbs up to her own bunk and settles onto the cool mattress. She can hear Adora below her, blanket slithering over skin and sheets until she gets comfortable.

It doesn't take long before Adora's breathing deepens and Catra knows she has fallen asleep. Ever the warrior, able to fall and rise at the drop of a hat.

Catra does not sleep. She stares at the ceiling in the dark, mind racing. Her bed feels hard and uncomfortable and all she wants is to curl up next to Adora and let her warmth lull her into slumber.

She glances over at the bracelet on her wrist. The blue light flashes steadily.

A deep, lip-smacking sigh comes from below her.

_One day to say goodbye._

Mind made up, she slides from the top bunk, lands noiselessly. Instead of curling up at the end of the bed near Adora's feet, Catra snakes into the spot next to her. Gone are the days that Catra acts like Adora's pet. If she's going to share a space with the other girl, it will be as an equal. In this case, an equal who just needs a little warmth to fall asleep.

Adora stirs from her slumber at the contact, blinking bleary eyes until she sees Catra. She smiles dopily before slinging her arm over Catra's waist. She doesn't seem to mind Catra invading her space, for which Catra is pleased.

"Night, Catra," Adora slurs, already back to sleep by the time she's done saying it. Catra grins, back pressed into the dozing blonde, the heat emanating from Adora already making her sleepy.

Before her eyelids close, Catra fiddles with the bracelet on her wrist until she finds the clasp. She flicks it open and removes it, dropping it off the side of the bed. It disappears from existence before it ever hits the ground.

It might mess everything up, but it might also be her chance to fix everything. Even Entrapta admitted she didn't know what would happen if she stayed. And anyway...

Catra has never been very good about following rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, thanks to my beta, and thanks to all of you who have liked and commented on this story so far. I'm having a lot of fun with it, and I hope all those who are reading this are enjoying it as well.


	4. Breaking (and repairing everything that I make)

_I keep on delaying_  
_Everything I'd rather avoid_  
_Rapidly decaying  
And panicking I'm losing the choice_

* * *

“Come on, Catra!” Adora yells, and Catra follows the sound of her voice. The hallways are darker than usual, and normally that wouldn’t bother Catra, but she’s having a hard time seeing. Everything looks murky, drenched in shadows.

“Adora?” Catra calls after the other girl, having lost sight of her. “Where’d you go?” Catra picks up her pace, hurrying in the direction Adora’s voice had been. 

“Boo!” Adora jumps out from behind the corner and Catra jumps, stifling a yelp. She glares murderously at her friend, trying to smooth down her hair that's standing on end. 

“Asshole,” Catra says while Adora laughs so hard she has trouble staying up.

“You should have seen your face,” she gasps, holding her stomach. Catra grumbles and pushes past Adora, disgruntled at having been scared. Not that she would admit it. 

“Oh, come on, Catra,” Adora pleads, grabbing her arm. “I was just having some fun.” 

“Fine, next time I’ll hide and jump out at you.”

“You do. All the time! Usually, you tackle me to the ground,” Adora points out. Catra sticks her tongue out at Adora because she doesn’t have a good comeback. “We’re going to be late if you don’t hurry up, slowpoke.” 

Catra can’t quite remember where it is that they’re going. She shrugs. “I’m usually late, what difference does it make?” 

“Ugh, you are insufferable,” Adora groans. “Would it kill you to be on time for once in your life?”

“Probably,” Catra says seriously. “How else can I make a dramatic entrance?”

Adora’s eyes roll, head shaking in disbelief. She considers for a moment, then brightens. “Race you there!” She takes off before Catra can protest, already tearing down the hallway.

“First you want me to be on time, now you want me to exert myself?” Catra shouts, but she’s already sprinting after her, determined not to let Adora get the better of her. 

She can hear Adora’s laughs echoing ahead, tantalizingly out of reach. Her laughter cuts off suddenly with a gasp and a gurgle. Dread pours into Catra’s veins like ice water. She picks up speed, throwing herself down the hall that stretches neverending before her. 

“Adora!” Her voice cracks with panic. “ADORA!” She bursts around the corner and stumbles to a stop. Hordak is there, holding Adora up by her throat; she’s choking, fingers grasping at Hordak’s hand, uselessly trying to pry his grip loose. 

“Did you think going back would stop this?” Hordak asks, a vicious sort of pleasure dripping from his tongue. “That breaking the rules would somehow spare you from her fate?” His laugh is full of dark menace and the hair on the back of Catra’s neck prickles with fear. She's out of breath and her lungs won't work properly enough to draw in air. 

“No,” she shudders. “Please, no,” she begs, legs frozen in place. If she could just move she could stop him, save Adora.

“This is inevitable,” he growls out between bared teeth, drawing back his arm to plunge his sword into Adora. Just like the first time, Catra can only watch in horror.

Catra jerks awake, body trembling, mouth stretched in a silent scream. Tears pool at the corners of her eyes, and she hastily wipes them away. She turns her head and sighs, feels some of the tension leave her body, if only a little. Adora is still sound asleep next to her, a line of drool trailing from her mouth to her pillow, snoring quietly with every exhale. Catra has never been so relieved to see someone drooling before. 

She wants to curl into Adora, to let the rise and fall of her chest chase away the ghost of her nightmare. She doesn’t. She wants to drink until she forgets. She can’t. She lies stock still until her muscles ache with restlessness, then extricates herself from Adora, carefully lifting the other girl’s arm off her waist and setting it beside her. 

Catra pads out of the barracks silently, letting out a heavy breath once she’s exited the room. She clenches and unclenches her fists ten times, counting slowly until her jaw aches and she realizes she’s grinding her teeth. Everything down to her molecules feels stretched thin. A gnawing ache burns in her chest. 

 _Adora’s alive, Adora’s alive, Adora’s alive,_ she chants the mantra in her head. Now her stupid brain isn’t just replaying Adora’s death, it’s inventing new scenarios for her to die in. 

Catra wants to scream. She wants to hit something. She also knows where she can go to do the latter. She marches her way to the training room where the walls are lined with punching bags. The room is empty - probably because it’s 2:37 in the morning, according to the neon green glow of the clock on the wall - and this is how Catra prefers it. She doesn’t feel like having an audience right now. 

Catra angles her body toward the punching bag in front of her, glaring at it like it personally offended her. She jabs, letting out a hiss of air as her fist smacks against the bag. She hasn’t bothered to put gloves on, and she relishes the sting on her knuckles. **_Jab. Jab, jab, straight_**. She snaps her hips with her punches, grunting with each blow. 

Images from her nightmare swim in her mind. _Adora’s laughter turning into a strangled cry_. **_Right hook. Jab._** The punching bag sways from the force of her hits, and she dodges out of the way, shuffling around the bag. _Hordak, lifting Adora by her throat, choking her as she fights back fruitlessly._ **_Right uppercut, left hook, straight, duck._** _Hordak mocking her. Hordak moving to kill Adora again._ **_Jab. Uppercut. Uppercut. UPPERCUT. RIGHT HOOK. JAB. STRAIGHT. JAB. STRAIGHT. JAB STRAIGHT JAB STRAIGHT JAB STRAIGHT. LEFT HOOK UPPERCUT UPPERCUT UPPERCUTUPPERCUTUPPERCUTUPPERCUT -_**

Catra yells with every hit she makes, rage and anguish thick in her throat. Tears mix with the sweat on her face; she keeps punching and punching and punching until the skin on her knuckles splits and her hands are slick with blood. She winds back to land another blow when a hand wraps around her wrist and Catra whirls, claws slashing. 

It’s lucky Adora has always had decent reflexes. She ducks out of the way, hand still clasped around Catra’s wrist. 

“It’s me,” she says, voice low, calming. Catra’s chest heaves, and she tries to pull her hands to her body, but Adora is taking them gently. Catra could pull away if she wanted to. Adora’s grip is loose enough to give her the option, but she stills. Catra hangs her head, shame heavy in her limbs. She feels _weak_. 

Adora’s hands slip from her wrists, pulling her hands up so she can take a closer look at Catra’s knuckles. She winces with sympathy. 

“You really tore yourself up,” she says, voice still low, like she’s worried Catra will run off if she raises her voice beyond a certain level. “Stay here,” she commands, releasing Catra to jog over to the first aid kit mounted on the wall. Catra doesn’t move except to lower herself to the ground, resting her elbows on the tops of her knees, hands hanging limply out in front of her. She sniffs, grimacing as her hands twinge. 

Adora comes back with antiseptic, cotton swabs, and bandage wraps. She kneels in front of Catra, taking her left hand carefully. The tips of Adora’s fingers tickle on Catra’s palm as they glide feather-light over the skin. Catra closes her eyes as Adora begins to wipe the blood from her hand, suddenly feeling very tired. 

The antiseptic stings on her knuckles but she doesn’t make a sound, biting down on her lip instead. Adora is silent as she works. Catra listens to the sound of her own rapid heartbeat thumping in her head. 

She glances up as Adora switches to her other hand, continuing her ministrations with the same cautious touch. Catra swallows. Adora’s face is pensive and oddly...tender? Catra’s stomach lurches. She feels torn between yanking her hands away and burrowing into Adora's arms to let the other girl's solid presence anchor her. 

“I woke up and you were gone,” Adora finally ventures, her voice still hushed. Not, _Are you okay?_ or _Why are you punching a bag bloody at 3 in the morning?_ Catra shrugs mutely, reluctant to talk about her nightmare. “Someone might think you’re applying yourself.” Adora’s voice lilts with a tease. She knows Adora is only joking, knows that Adora sees she tries, even if others don't care to see it, but the implication she doesn't apply herself stings just a little. The sting is lessened because she knows what her ambition costs her in the future. “You gunning for me, Catra?” Adora winks. Actually fucking winks at her, like she’s trying to be cool in her pajamas, disheveled with sleep. What a dork. 

Catra snorts with a shake of her head. Adora chuckles as she finishes cleaning Catra’s knuckles. They look raw and pink, stark against her skin. Adora lifts both of Catra’s hands simultaneously, giving them a once over. Seemingly satisfied with her work, she begins wrapping the bandages over Catra’s knuckles, layering them several times over and adhering them with medical tape. This is the second time in less than 24 hours Adora is fixing her up, which is somehow both humiliating and nice at the same time. 

“There. Looks kind of cool,” Adora says as Catra flexes her hands. She can feel the skin pull under the wraps, and it hurts, but it’s tolerable. 

“Thanks,” Catra says meekly. She pushes herself up, brushing invisible dirt from her pants. She's still in her pajamas as well, now damp with sweat. Her nose wrinkles with distaste. 

Adora is finishing putting away the medical supplies when she looks back at Catra over her shoulder. She hesitates. 

"You can wake me up next time you have a nightmare," she murmurs. 

"I didn't have a nightmare," Catra denies. 

"Okay, if you say so," Adora shrugs. 

Catra's ears flatten on her head. "I didn't!" Catra doesn’t know why she’s being so stubborn about this, but she can’t really help it either. It’s reflex. _Show no weakness._

"Okay! Sheesh. I'm just saying, if you did _maybe_ have a nightmare…the offer stands." 

Catra stares hard at Adora, annoyed this thirteen-year-old version of her friend can see through her so well. She'd almost prefer the painfully oblivious Adora from the future right now. Had Adora always been this observant, or did she just stop paying attention as they got older? The thought leaves a taste like ash in her mouth.

"You drool in your sleep."

In typical fashion, Catra avoids the issue altogether by changing the subject. 

Adora scoffs. "I do not!"

"Hey, if you don't believe me, the evidence is all over your pillow," Catra shrugs.

“I hate you.” 

They walk back to the barracks in no particular hurry, shoulders brushing from time to time as they sway into each other. Catra is worn out, and she hopes it will mean she’ll be too tired to dream again. They only have a few hours left before they’ll need to be up anyway. 

“Why did you come find me?” Catra asks, voice low and rough. 

Adora’s steps falter and slow. She has a weird smile on her face when she looks at Catra, a short laugh escaping her. “We look out for each other. Or did you forget?” 

No, Catra has never forgotten. It's what made Adora leaving so hard in the first place. She shakes her head. "Of course not." 

"Well, that's why," Adora says lamely. "I don't need another reason, do I?" It feels like Adora is asking something else, but Catra's not sure what. She's tired and her knuckles keep pulsing with sharp pain. It's distracting. 

She appreciates what Adora is trying to do. She doesn’t know how to tell the other girl she doesn’t _need rescuing_. She can’t explain she’s more capable than Adora could ever know. She doesn’t want to fall back into this habit of Adora coming to save her every time something goes wrong. Knowing Adora, that’s going to be a hard habit to break. It doesn’t help either that, well, Catra doesn’t mind the attention. Likes the way it seems to warm her insides until her fractured edges smooth over. 

She doesn't want to live in Adora's shadow again.

_Why is everything so damn confusing?_

They reach the barracks and slink silently back to Adora’s bunk. Adora tries to inconspicuously flip her pillow over to hide the drool spot in the corner and Catra grins. Wordlessly, she sinks down next to Adora, sighing softly. Both of them lie on their backs, staring up at the rungs underneath Catra’s empty bunk. Catra chews on her bottom lip, reaches out for Adora’s hand and finds her wrist instead. She lets her fingertips rest there, feels the steady pulse faintly thrumming under her skin. Every beat calms Catra until her anxiety shakes loose and doesn't grip so hard. Adora turns onto her side, arcs her body toward Catra, forehead resting against her shoulder. 

“Is everything okay?” Adora whispers, the sound of her voice muffled in the fabric of Catra’s shirt. 

 _No. Maybe. It should be, but it isn’t._ Catra can’t bring herself to speak; she squeezes Adora’s wrist instead. Adora sighs and leans back, eyes searching. Catra tilts her head to her right, and they stare at each other for an indefinable amount of time. Adora squirms, working the arm she’s laying on up under her head, curving toward the top of Catra’s, where her fingers work their way into Catra’s hair and to the spot behind her ear that she likes scratched. She lazily drags blunt fingernails over the spot, circling until Catra’s eyes flutter closed. A deeply contented sigh leaves her. 

Catra lifts one eye open lazily; Adora already looks like she’s falling asleep, but she keeps scratching. 

 _I won’t let you die again, Adora,_ Catra promises silently. _This time, I’ll save you._

* * *

Before Catra knows it, Adora is shaking her awake for breakfast before morning drills. Adora is always up before everyone else, so Catra knows they still have time before they need to be up. 

“Five more minutes,” Catra mumbles tiredly. Adora is already getting out of the bed and Catra burrows into the warm space she leaves behind. 

“I’m going to shower and then you have to get up,” Adora says, poking Catra in the thigh with her foot. 

Catra swats at her clumsily. “Stop,” she moans.

“Five minutes,” Adora says firmly, then she’s gone. Catra stretches, arching her back with a long groan, then collapses like a boneless thing back into the blanket. She inhales deeply, and she’s _not_ doing it just to take in Adora’s scent, but it’s not a bad perk. It’s comforting. 

She dozes until Adora comes back and kicks her squarely in the ass. Catra yelps. “Hey!” 

“It’s been five minutes,” Adora says, and Catra cracks her eyelids open, squinting at Adora with a sleepy glare. She’s pulling her hair back into her usual ponytail, hair still damp. 

“It felt like two,” Catra complains. She pulls the blanket up over her head. Maybe if Adora can’t see her she’ll leave her alone. 

Adora tugs the blanket right back down. No such luck. “Now it’s been six. Come on,” she persists.

“Ugh, fine, you’re so bossy,” Catra stretches again before sitting up. She rolls her shoulders and cracks her neck, taking her sweet time because she knows it will annoy Adora. 

Adora huffs. “You’re being slow on purpose.” 

“Me? Never,” Catra drawls. 

“Go! Shower. You look like crap.”

“Ouch, go right for the jugular then,” Catra frowns, trying to run her hand through her hair. Her hair _is_ pretty tangled. “Fine, you win, I’m going!” 

Adora gives her a little shove as she slouches by - which, unnecessary much? - and drags herself into the communal showers. Stalls line the wall, providing a modicum of privacy, which is better than nothing, Catra supposes. She fervently misses the luxury of her private shower from when she was a Commander. Here she risks the water temperature dropping drastically as too many people try to shower at once, or worse, seeing someone else naked. It’s especially awkward now, when they’re all teenagers, trying to grow properly into their own bodies. No one else is here yet, because Adora is a freak who likes to 'get a jump start on the day', and Catra has to suffer because of it. She likes her sleep, okay? But at least being up this early means she doesn't have to deal with anyone. 

Catra makes her way to one of the mirrors on the wall. Mirrors in the Horde aren’t so much about vanity as they are about _presentation_. Sloppiness does not abide. Catra typically doesn't care much in general, someone (Shadow Weaver) is going to be displeased with how she looks regardless, so why bother? Still, Catra can’t help but grimace at the sight that greets her. Her hair is a disaster, like someone has stuck her finger into an electrical socket, her forehead is nicely bruised from where Adora hit her the previous day, and her hands are wrapped in bandages. 

At this age, she’s all skin and bones, not far enough into cadet training to have built any real muscle, and she misses how she looks when she’s older, lean and powerful and not like she could be snapped like a twig. 

Plus, she thinks she sees a zit coming in on her chin. _Being a teenager again is great,_ she thinks sarcastically. 

She strips and leaves her clothes in a pile on the floor, dancing under the stream of water as it fluctuates from freezing to blistering hot until she manages to adjust it to a more suitable temperature. She scrubs at her hair as quickly as she can, trying to detangle as she goes, knowing she may only have minutes before the heat dissipates. 

The water beats down on her head as she carefully peels the bandage wraps off her hands, blood splotches growing larger the further she goes down. Under the stream of water the bandages come off easily, but the water stings the fresh skin underneath. She’ll have to wrap them again. 

She finishes her shower in less than ten minutes, but she still takes longer than Adora, who aims for efficiency in every aspect of her life. If Shadow Weaver could give an award for the quickest shower, it would go to Adora. It’s not Catra’s fault that she has all this hair. 

The other cadets are starting to wake up by the time she leaves the showers, dressed and trying to rub her hair dry with a towel. Adora is passing the time by doing push-ups while she waits. 

“Careful, your scrawny arms might snap,” Catra says. 

“Says she with the scrawniest arms I’ve ever seen,” Adora jibes, puffing air as she finishes her last pushup.

“Excuse me, have you seen Kyle?” Catra demands with a pout. 

“You have a point. Sorry,” Adora apologizes, then flexes her biceps experimentally. “Not bad, though, right?” 

Catra stares at Adora’s arms for a moment - certainly not bad, but she knows they’ll only get better with time. Her face is slightly warm as she chokes out a laugh. “Idiot,” she says half-heartedly. Adora’s smile is all too pleased. 

“Can we go eat?” Catra says abruptly, flustered. _Stupid teenage hormones._ “Weren’t you like, the one all in a hurry and shit?” 

Adora looks smug the whole way to the cafeteria. 

* * *

Probably the only cool thing about having to redo cadet training is Catra already knows how to do all of this. Getting her body to cooperate with what she _wants_ to do is another matter though. It’s like she’s learned the theory but her muscles haven’t quite picked up on how to do it. 

Still, just knowing the techniques has already put her way ahead of the rest of the squad - even Adora. 

Having only just started cadet training, they aren’t at a point where they’ll start simulations yet. It’s all still conditioning, getting their bodies into shape. This involves a five-minute jog around the training facility, followed by stretches before advancing to weaponry. 

Catra is wrapping her knuckles when Lonnie saunters over with a haughty look on her face.

“Careful you don’t get knocked out again, Catra,” she taunts. Catra grunts, flexing her hands to make sure the bandages aren’t too constricting. 

“I’d worry about yourself, _Lonnie_.” She extends her hand to receive the extra training staff Adora has brought over. She’s never really needed extra weapons - her claws do the job all on their own - but weapon training is mandatory. She spins the staff between her hands, twirling it through her fingers, testing the weight of it. Sure, maybe she’s showing off a little bit, too. It must be a jarring image from yesterday’s Catra, who probably would have been more likely to hit herself spinning the staff around like she’s doing now. 

Whatever Lonnie’s retort is going to be is lost as she watches Catra and snaps her jaw shut. 

Catra smiles dangerously, showing as many teeth as she can. 

“Okay, cadets,” the sergeant calls out. “Yesterday we learned some of the basics of handling your staff. Some of you,” the sergeant looks pointedly at Catra, “did better than others. Regardless, today we’re going to run some free for alls. Last one standing is the winner.” 

Adora nudges Catra’s side, smiling wide with excitement. Catra rolls her eyes but smiles back begrudgingly. 

“Begin!”

The other cadets must have sensed weakness from Catra’s mishap yesterday because Lonnie, Rogelio, and Kyle all converge on her at once. Catra leaps to the side, rolling shoulder over shoulder and popping back up. With one swift jab, she smashes her staff into Kyle’s chest piece and he’s out of the running in seconds. 

"Aw man," he groans and shuffles off to the side and out of the way, feet dragging dejectedly.

Catra sees Adora fighting Lonnie from the corner of her eye, allowing her to focus on Rogelio. He’s more of a challenge than Kyle is, who has never excelled at physical combat (and never really will, to be honest). But Catra can’t afford to think about any version of Kyle at the moment, so she pushes it away and ducks under a wild swing from Rogelio. What he lacks in skill he makes up for in size and strength. Even at a young age, he towers over the rest of them. 

She parries his attacks and can feel her arms tremble under the weight of them - _curse her puny teenage arms -_ but where Rogelio is slow, Catra is fast. Instead of waiting for her own arms to tire out, she presses her own attack, swinging her staff in a flurry of movement, knocking his elbows and knees with loud, bruising cracks. He recoils and stumbles back, leaving himself open and she slams the staff into his chest. Another buzzer rings out as Rogelio falls on his ass. He glares at her and Catra waves her fingers at him with a cackle. 

“Tough luck,” she shrugs. 

She pivots on her heel as a third buzzer goes off, Lonnie’s chest emblazoned with a red x, holding her arm with a grimace. Adora swivels and faces her, one eyebrow cocked in a challenge. The scenario is so familiar, settling over Catra like a well-worn blanket, and she can’t help but call out. 

“Just you and me, Princess.”

Adora looks legitimately offended. Right. Adora doesn’t exactly know she’s a Princess. Whoops. 

“Oh, you’ll pay for that,” Adora says, and Catra plays off her slip up with a laugh. 

“Try me.”

They circle each other deliberately, feet sliding along the ground as they eye one another up. Catra notices the minute movement of Adora’s hands squeezing her staff and knows Adora is about to charge in. Adora never had enough patience. 

Catra blocks the strike, and their staffs crackle with red energy before she pushes Adora back. Adora’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, but then she’s grinning, and Catra knows Adora relishes the challenge. She always has. 

Even though they’re clumsy compared to how they will one day fight, their battle is still almost like a dance, Catra thinks. They advance and retreat instinctively, able to anticipate each other’s moves almost as they’re making them. They’re ducking and weaving, blocking strikes and counterattacks. It still lacks the finesse and technicality of her fights with She-Ra, but it’s impressive nonetheless. 

Adora isn’t quite as strong as Rogelio, but she’s quicker than him. Sweat is dripping down Adora’s face, fiercely determined as she surges forward with a rush of heavy blows, increasing her speed with each hit. Catra keeps up as best she can, but her arms are tiring now. Suddenly, Adora is flipping the staff out of her hands, sending it spinning away. Catra hears it clatter against the floor, far out of reach. 

Adora is going for the killing blow, so to speak, and Catra does the only thing she can think of. As the staff comes down to meet her, she reaches out and grabs it with her bare hands, gritting her teeth against the sting of it. Adora looks shocked, forgetting momentarily that they’re in the middle of a fight, and Catra uses the staff to pull herself closer to Adora until they’re face to face. 

“Hey Adora,” she says, smile sharp and Adora looks confounded at the turn of events. Catra kicks out, sweeping Adora’s legs out from under her, simultaneously pulling Adora’s staff from her hands as she falls. 

Catra stands over her fallen friend, staff in hand. “Sorry, Adora,” she says, cracking the staff down with a sharp jab. 

The final buzzer blares. 

Catra has won. 

“We...uh...have a winner,” the sergeant stutters, and he sounds just as surprised as everyone else looks. Adora is staring up at her, mouth open and awestruck. Catra reaches her hand out and helps Adora up, who is blinking dazedly. 

“Catra!” 

Catra feels all her skin prickle as she turns to face an angry looking Shadow Weaver. _Fuck_.

“Come with me, now,” Shadow Weaver says, voice dangerously low. Catra growls under her breath and shoves the staff at Adora, then marches out of the training room to follow Shadow Weaver.

She’s waiting for Catra out in the hall, and as soon as Catra steps toward her, she is trapped within red energy, frozen in place. Catra glares at Shadow Weaver in turn, unable to do anything else.

“How _dare_ you humiliate Adora that way,” Shadow Weaver hisses, her hair swirling above her head like an angry shadow octopus. 

Catra tries to fight against the magic, willing any of her muscles to even twitch. It’s been a long time since Catra’s actually been afraid of Shadow Weaver, but that doesn’t make her magic abuse any less painful. It’s like a thousand pins being pressed into her skin with no relief to be found. 

“You will never do anything like that again, do you understand me, Catra?” Shadow Weaver asks, and Catra almost falls as she releases the magic, just barely managing to stay upright. 

“No,” Catra bites out, ears flat against her head, tail lashing furiously. “I didn’t humiliate Adora, I fought her fair and square and I won!” 

“Why, you inso-”

“Yeah, yeah, insolent child,” Catra interrupts, spine straightening, chin jutting in defiance. “That tune gets real old, you know? Did you ever consider that maybe a little competition is good for Adora? You know as well as I do that this loss will only push her harder to get better, so really, I’m doing you and Adora a favor!” 

Catra is so done with being treated like _shit_ by Shadow Weaver. Just as surely as she’s not going to live in Adora’s shadow this time around, she’s not going to let Shadow Weaver abuse her anymore. 

Shadow Weaver’s white eyes are wide, clearly shocked into silence by Catra’s outburst. It gives Catra a deep sense of satisfaction, knowing, at least this round, she’s gotten the better of her. 

Shadow Weaver sniffs haughtily, eyes narrowing as she considers Catra. Catra stares back, unflinching, unwilling to give even an inch in this silent battle of wills. Finally, Shadow Weaver’s head tilts. 

“Very well. You may have a point, Catra. But do not forget your place, and never speak to me that way again, or I will make sure your end is painful.” She glides away, and Catra makes a violent gesture to the woman’s back. 

“Bitch!"

* * *

Adora finds her in the locker room after, and she practically bounces over to Catra, attaching herself like a hyper leech to Catra’s arm. 

“That was amazing, Catra,” she breathes, face all shining excitement. “You surprised everyone.”

“Even you,” she points out, throwing her damp towel into the laundry hamper. 

“Well, yeah,” Adora agrees. “It’s like you’re a different person from yesterday,” she says, and a nervous laugh escapes Catra. Adora doesn’t seem to notice it. “The way you handled Kyle and Rogelio -”

“Kyle barely counts,” Catra says dismissively. 

“Sure, but Rogelio! And you made it look so easy! And then, just like, the way you moved when we were fighting, it was like you’ve been doing this for years. Oh! And how you grabbed the staff with your bare hands at the end,” Adora gushes, tugging on Catra’s arm. “And then, whoosh! Swept me right off my feet!” 

Adora doesn’t sound bitter about the loss at all. She sounds...impressed? 

“Yeah, well,” Catra rubs at the back of her neck, face warm with embarrassment. “You were great too. I thought you were gonna win there for a minute, my arms were getting really tired from blocking your hits.” 

Adora beams at her. “Now who’s the idiot for doing push-ups?” she asks.

“Still you,” Catra says, and Adora hits her arm playfully.

“Hey,” Adora says, her voice turning more serious. “Did everything go okay with Shadow Weaver? She sounded mad…”

“Yeah, no, it’s fine,” Catra shrugs. Adora’s hand squeezes her arm, face twisted with understanding. “It’s not going to be a problem,” Catra promises. 

“Good, cause I mean it. You were amazing out there. Shadow Weaver should be giving you commendations for it.” Adora’s voice is soft, genuine. Catra’s insides squirm pleasantly. Sure, she’d given up on getting praise from Shadow Weaver a long time ago (even if maybe, just maybe, there was a small part of her that still craves it), but hearing it from Adora was always a special kind of nice. It made her feel like she was on an equal playing field with the other girl. It was just too bad everyone else refused to see it.

“Wouldn’t that be the day?” Catra snorts. “Let’s go eat, I’m _famished_ from kicking your ass.” 

“Tch, it was one fight, I’m going to pay you back for that,” Adora swears. “Especially since I still owe you for that Princess comment, I mean, that was a low blow.” 

“Sorry about that. You’re definitely not a Princess, Adora,” Catra says, following her out of the locker room.  _Not yet_.

Catra’s chest hurts. Just a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title and lyrics from Mutemath. Many thanks to my beta who keeps me from abusing the word 'that', which I seem to be having some sort of affair with. This is still angsty because it's all I know, but I promise it won't always be angsty. Probably. Maybe.


End file.
